...Everything in its' Place
During their conversation, the pair had shifted to emptying the boxes that remained. While Dorian busied himself with the tools and syringes, Vas had neatly organized all the bandages and windings that dental work and crew misadventures of the past few days had depleted. Except for the hulking kiln’s need for suitable anchorage and power, the infirmary was beginning to take order and potential once more. “Still,” Dorian responded, “Ah’ll be honest. Ah can handle a gun, not tah mention this,” he said, flashing a short blade from a vest pocket, “but hand tah hand has just...well, let’s put it this way. Ah’ve devoted mahself tah “other pursuits.” Vas moved the crates as they empty near the door to be stowed. “Other pursuits?” Vas asked with such innocence it was clear the implication flew clear over his war hawked head. It was clear the boy was trying to puzzle out what the Doctor meant by that. “Like what?” Vas added cluelessly as he continued his work. Of course, Vas was more thinking the man had devoted more time to his profession than fist fighting. Which to Vas made perfect sense but he wasn’t entirely sure. “Perhaps,” Dorian offered a smile as he closed a cabinet door, “we’ll see to some of that on Ezra, Miss Jacy’s approval considered, of course. Nevah much liked Ezra,” he offered. “Don’t get me wrong. The place offers diversions a plenty. Just seems that along the way, someone decided tah dial up the violence, I’ve shot…” Dorian paused, “Yah know somethin? Ah’m not sure that’s a fair judgment anymore. Even Santo seemed a bit more...on edge.” His face darkened with memories of the young whore’s victimization. “Did Ah hear you were born there? How’d you find it?” Vas was quiet for a moment. “Yea, born and half raised there. I remember Santo a place that rivaled Sion. Used to be nothing but blue skies, sunsets ‘n music. Trust me, Santo now is far from the Santo that used to be.” He explained with a sad wistfulness. “Maybe I got a bit of rose-colored glasses but … you know, war, changed everything.” The young punk shrugged. He tilted his head. “Why would we need Jacy’s approval? Don’t the Captian make the call?” Vas was truly a bonehead. The first time Dorian had seen Santo was two years post war. Even then, the place appeared pretty much as it did now. Marisol had brought him, along with the last of her bloody little band of “freedom fighters” to lay low and reunite with her family. During those happy days, she’d never offered memories of Santo-That-Was. “Pragmatic tah tha last,” he muttered, considering the new familial arrangement she’d talked him into this morning. “Oh, sorry,” he said to Vas’ questioning expression. “Ah’ve got friends on Santo...you got me thinkin’ ‘bout ‘em. You’re right about one thing,” he offered. ‘’Bout tha war? Ah grew up on Hera. Got tah watch mah little piece of it taken apart. Ah don’t evah plan on goin’ back.” His face brightened as with a chuckle, he said, “As tah seekin' Miss Jacy's approval? Rule number one ‘bout tha fairer sex: their approval always matters...especially when they tell yah it doesn’t.” “Yea, no one left for me on Santo anymore. This is as close to home as it gets.” Vas shrugged, Santo it was hardly the same and for him full of nothing but ghosts and graves. “Hera hu? I take it then you were up and about Serenity Valley then?” It had been the only theater he had not participated in. “Heard it was ugly, history seems to agree with that.” Though to the young man, it didn’t matter where the killing took place the war as a whole had been ugly from eyes of kid. “You seem to know an awful lot ‘bout … the …” How did the doc put it. “ … fairer sex? You have a lady somewhere out there?” He asked curiously, it seemed to be a logical jump after all. “Yes,” Dorian’s gaze drifted. “It was ugly. Serenity Valley was mah home. From what Ah’m told, tha whole place is now a battlefield park. They got walkin’ tours, and even a gift shop.” He shook his head as Vas made a stammering approach to his womanizing. “Tah be honest,” Adler chuckled, “Ah nevah had women tha likes of Jacy rubbin’ round mah ankles as she does you. Most of mah experience was bought an’ paid for. Women Ah tried tah pursue all played games tah leave a man guessin’ bout tha next move. That’s all wonderful stuff, if you’re a poet or a songsmith. A good whore, on the other hand,” he raised an index finger in mock seriousness, “will tell yah evahthing yah want tah know, complete with a proper demonstration.” He chuckled quietly, before Vas asked the twenty-thousand credit question. “Difficult tah say,” he opted for the simplest answer, which also had the benefit of being the truth. Chances were that Vas had witnessed his final exchange with Maria Chavez just before upthrust. “A kiss is a difficult thing to hide,” he thought. “Difficult tah say, mah friend,” Dorian repeated. Well the idea anyone, much less Jacy, rubbing up against him without the intention of shiving a vital organ was enough to put back some color to his ears. “Seems all real complicated you ask me.” He admitted not knowing if he was cut out for such things. Particularly knowing once Jacy found what she was looking for she would go back to whatever fairytale she stepped out of. “Right, so if ya need me for anything else gimi a hollar, don’t want to linger too long in one place. Riley might find out and come down like a ton of angry bricks.” He said with a boyish grin and went to gather up the empty crates. “Nice talkin’ with yah, Mister Vas,” Dorian smiled. “Wouldja do me a favor? Please send Jacy mah way when yah see her? Time for a followup on her dental work.” He returned to his task as Vas cleared the empty boxes from the infirmary. He’d liked the punk at first sight in the Lucky Cat. Now, finding that complete open-mindedness he held as a credo, Dorian found he liked the kid all the more. Two days on Santo had offered some revelations. Dimitri was brewing something he was itching to try. Jacy, true to the nature of her training, was a social chameleon when it came to the types of men she had to control. Dillon...such a nice kid. But sadly, his train was on it’s way. The mechanic ...a closed book, one that Dorian hadn’t determined worthy of reading. He’d get to know the kids soon enough. That left Riley. Threats of violence aside, there was something about her that just...clicked. “Maybe Ah should try poetry,” he joked to himself, "and then duck and cover." The captain never crawled out of a bottle; not a problem for Dorian, who'd gladly crawl right in there with him. That left the church people. Thus far, the woman was a ghost, a lithe apparition whose flowing robes might occasionally be seen wafting toward the aroma of fresh coffee. The man, Henry, set a small alarm ringing among Dorian's poker tuned sensibilities. Something about the zeal with which he sold the story of not quite cutting it at "the abbey" just didn't carry an authentic ring. Then again, anyone claiming a religious path was up for suspicion by the medic. Shrugging off his misgivings, Dorian set out an array of the told for Jacy's followup exam. Given all the changes of just the past twenty-four hours, he had more then enough to ponder within his own narrow little existence.